


Snow's Bride

by twyly56



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Affectionate Ramsay, Archery, Arranged Marriage, Caring, Character Death, Childhood Trauma, Confused Sansa Stark, Cuddling & Snuggling, Developing Relationship, F/M, Forehead Kisses, Forehead Touching, Hugs, Implied/Referenced Torture, Internal Conflict, Kindness, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Platonic Kissing, Platonic Romance, Possessive Behavior, Protective Ramsay, Protectiveness, Ramsay Snow/Bolton, Ramsay To The Rescue, Roose Bolton is His Own Warning, Unexpected Behavior, Violence, vengeance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-09 02:29:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14707403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twyly56/pseuds/twyly56
Summary: "I'll never hurt her. You have my word."When Sansa marries Ramsay Bolton, she is terrified of him. She has heard so many stories of his sadistic nature, and she thinks he will do something similar to her. To her surprise and confusion, Ramsay is impossibly gentle with her. He doesn't force her to do anything that she doesn't want to, and he doesn't trap her inside his room like a pet. Ramsay does everything he can to make sure that she is safe and comfortable.





	1. Wedding Night

"Good evening, my Lady," Theon said. His eyes were staring intently at the floor beside her feet. Sansa swallowed and faced him. "I've come to escort you to the Godswood." 

Sansa looked at him, silent, until he began to wring his hands and fidget. 

"P-please, m'lady. Let me take your hand." 

"No," Sansa said. 

"Lord Ramsay told me to give you away tonight," Theon said. 

"I'm not _touching_ you," Sansa snarled. She glared at him. The man who had murdered her little brothers. 

"P-p-please. You don't know what he'll do to me." 

"I don't care what he does to you," Sansa spat. Theon's eyes snapped to her face, pleading and guilt ridden. She brushed past him, anger boiling in her veins, and walked through the door into the hall. 

 

It was cold outside. Very, very cold. It was also dark, seeing as it was past sunset. The path for her was lit solely by torches staked into the ground, and her long white train trailed behind her, dragging as she walked. Her dress covered every part of her up to her chin and her wrists. It was rather thick material, but still she felt the chill of winter seep through. Snow crunched beneath her feet, seeming to echo in her ears as she walked. 

People were gathered all around, most concentrated at the end of the path. She saw Roose Bolton standing beside his son by the Great Tree, and the son looked at her shyly. He was dressed in brown ceremonial leather, the decorative cloth clinging to his frame, the heavy sleeves hanging loose over his pale wrists. His black hair was still in messy black curls, framing his forehead and highlighting his ice blue eyes that seemed to see into her soul. Sansa shivered, stepping forward to reach the wooden altar. 

Lord Bolton smiled benevolently and spread his arms. 

"We have gathered here tonight for a Lady of the North to come before the Godswood and seek the blessings of the Gods," he began. "Who gives her away?" 

Theon stepped forward. 

"I do." 

"Name yourself." 

"Theon... of House Greyjoy. I was the f-former ward of her father, Lord Stark," Theon stuttered. 

"Who comes to receive the Lady?" 

"I do," his son said, stepping forward to stand beside the alter. 

"Name yourself." 

"Ramsay of House Bolton." Ramsay shifted his eyes and turned his pale gaze to Sansa. 

"Do you accept this marriage, Lady Sansa of House Stark? Do you take this man to be your husband?" 

Sansa swallowed, breath catching in her throat. She walked forward a few more steps. Her eyes finally lifted to meet Ramsay's. 

"I do. I take this man," she said evenly, sounding far calmer than she felt. 

Ramsay's face lifted into a smile. 

 

Ramsay led her back to his room, gently taking her by the hand and remaining a respectable distance from the rest of her body. Theon trailed behind them like a dejected dog, hanging his head low. Ramsay held open the door for her and gestured her in. Sansa stepped inside, her heart pounding. Her palms felt sweaty, and everything was too intense, too loud, to her. 

"Are you pleased, my Lady?" Ramsay asked. He stood by the door, hand on the door frame. 

Sansa nodded minutely. 

"Good. I want you to be happy," he said with a gentle smile. Ramsay walked over to where she was in the middle of the room, stopping before her. "Is it true that you are a virgin?" 

Sansa shot Theon a look, feeling heat rise in her cheeks, and he averted his eyes guiltily. She looked back at Ramsay. 

"Yes, my Lord," she said. Ramsay stepped closer, a grin on his lips, and brought a hand to her face. 

"Really? Even after the dwarf?" 

"He never touched me. He was gentle," Sansa replied, feeling a bit faint from the close contact. Ramsay was still smiling. 

"Hmm. We are man and wife now. We should be honest with each other," Ramsay murmured. Sansa took a shaky breath. "Thank you for trusting me, my Lady." 

Sansa blinked at him. He waved his other hand at Theon. 

"Get out, Reek. Now." 

Theon immediately left the room and locked the door. Ramsay stroked her cheek softly with his calloused thumb, stopping at her bottom lip. He lowered his hand to the back of her neck and kissed her. It was just a simple, chaste press of lips, but it made her heart flutter more than the time that Lord Baelish had kissed her. She blushed deeply, and Ramsay pulled away. His thumb rubbed soothing circles in the back of her neck. She barely felt it through the thick material of her collar. He reached for her hair, and she stumbled back. 

"Wh-what are you doing?" 

"I just wanted to help you let your hair down. It must be hurting your head, keeping all of that pretty hair piled on top of it. That's why my mother used to wear hers in a braid. Down and out of the way." 

"I can do it myself, my Lord." Ramsay reached for her hair again. 

"Nonsense! As your husband, it is my duty to attend to the needs of my wife. Let me." 

He carefully removed each and every pin, setting them on the nightstand, and his deft fingers unwound all of her intricate braids. Ramsay smoothed out her wavy red locks with his hands, running fingers to detangle it first, and then, he retrieved a brush from a drawer. He ran it through her hair, the bristles massaging her scalp with each pass. Ramsay hummed to himself as he did so, and despite herself, she began to relax. With one last tug, he made a happy noise and smoothed it down, setting the brush to the side. 

"There! All done. Was I too rough, my Lady? If so, I apologize. I haven't done that in years." 

"No, that was fine," Sansa said. Ramsay hummed in response, digging through the closet. 

"Ah. Here it is," he said. He turned to her and held out a pale blue nightgown. It was surprisingly rather modest, long enough to reach her ankles, and the neckline was just below her collar bones. She accepted it with no small measure of confusion. 

"What is this for?" she asked. 

"It's for you to wear. To bed. I didn't think that you'd want to sleep naked next to me. We just met after all." Sansa flushed at his words. 

"Um, we're not - uh - I mean..." she trailed off, cheeks stained red. Ramsay chuckled.

"You're not ready yet, love. No worries, we'll get to it eventually. It'll be lots of fun," he said with a grin. "But for now, bed. It's time to sleep." 

Ramsay turned his back for her to change, and Sansa got into the bed, stiff under the covers. He stripped off his clothes except for his small clothes and replaced them with a plain white shirt and loose black trousers. He crawled under the blanket beside her and wrapped his arms around her. Sansa shivered, feeling the heat of his body, and closed her eyes. 


	2. Snow Day

"Good morning, my Lady!" said a cheerful voice. Sansa startled awake and sat up, clutching the blanket to herself. Ramsay grinned at her, standing beside the bed fully dressed in his usual black leathers. He held out a steaming bowl of porridge to her. "I got you breakfast. Did you sleep well?" 

Sansa blinked at him. She accepted the bowl from him and balanced it on her lap. 

"I slept well, my Lord. Thank you," Sansa said politely. Ramsay's grin seemed to widen. 

"Excellent. Though, on a serious note, kick me off the bed if I'm taking up all the space. I do that sometimes," he admitted sheepishly. "Okay?" 

"Okay." 

"Great! Now, eat up, love, 'cause I got a surprise for you today." Sansa swallowed her bite of porridge. 

"A surprise, my Lord?" Ramsay nodded. 

"Yes, a surprise just for you. Oh, and please, call me Ramsay. You're my wife, so we can be on a first name, basis," Ramsay said. 

"Yes... Ramsay." The name felt foreign on her tongue. Ramsay smiled. 

"Thank you. Clothes are in the closet. Wear something warm, please. I'll be right outside," he said. Ramsay walked out of the room and closed the door. 

 

Sansa opened the door, and Ramsay caught her left hand and pressed his lips to the back of it. Her breath halted in her throat at the sensation of cold lips touching her skin. He smiled up at her. She could feel his lips curl against her, and it sent a strange tingle up her spine. Ramsay released her hand and straightened. 

"My Lady." 

Sansa felt a surge of boldness amid her odd confusion. 

"You may call me Sansa," she said. Ramsay paused, tilting his head. He seemed to see inside her with his ice colored eyes. His lips quirked up at the edges.

"Thank you, Sansa. It would be a pleasure to address you by your given name." Sansa felt blood rush to her cheeks. He extended his arm to her, bending it at the elbow. "Shall we?" 

Sansa placed her arm inside his, and he grinned. Ramsay led her down the hall and out into the courtyard. When he pushed open the door to the courtyard, she gasped. 

"It's snowing!" she breathed. 

The last time she had seen it snow had been months and months ago. Sansa let go of his arm and walked into the courtyard, wide eyed. Ramsay watched her go with a smile, and he followed her but not too closely. She held out her hand, catching little snowflakes in her gloved palm. Sansa grinned. 

_"Sansa! Sansa! It's snowin'!" Arya squealed. "Come play outside with me!"_

_"Just let me finish this last section, Arya. I'll go out with you, then."_

_"No! Come on, now! You'll miss, like last time. You gotta come now!" her little sister insisted._

_"Arya, wait. Hey, give that back!"_

_"Come and get it!" Arya said, giggling and waving the patchwork square around. She darted out the door, and Sansa ran after her.  
_

_"Give it back, Arya!"_

_"Hurry up, Sansa, and get it yourself!"_

_She threw open the door, and a snowball collided with her face. Sansa shrieked in surprise. She glared playfully at Arya and tackled her to the ground._

_"I've got you now!"_

_"No! Have mercy!" Arya squealed when Sansa shoved snow down her collar._

Sansa sighed, closing her eyes and letting the snow fall against her face. A hand brushed over hers, and her eyes snapped open. Ramsay smiled up at her. He was sitting on the ground beside her with his legs crossed beneath him. His thumb gently stroked the back of her hand. 

"Join me?" Ramsay suggested. Sansa couldn't help the little smile that spread over her face. She got down on the floor and tucked her legs under her. 

Ramsay leaned forward and kissed her forehead. Sansa blushed, ducking behind her flaming red hair, and he chuckled. 

"You're so cute," he murmured. Her blush deepened. Ramsay grinned. A messy tendril of black hair flopped against his forehead, right above his left eye. 

"You're one to talk," Sansa blurted. He raised an eyebrow, still smiling. 

"Is that so? You think I'm cute?" 

"Uh - I mean..." Sansa trailed off, cheeks aflame. Ramsay laughed. He wrapped his arms around her and just held her. 

It was warm, firm yet gentle. Sansa had stiffened initially, but when he just kept still, she relaxed against him. The hug wasn't that bad. 


	3. Don't Touch My Wife

"Lady Sansa," a familiar deep voice said. Sansa flicked her eyes up from her needlework to see Lord Baelish standing in front of her. 

"Lord Baelish," she greeted coolly. Sansa was still angry with him for getting her tangled up in yet another marriage. Granted, her husband wasn't ridiculously cruel this time, but still. It was the fact that he could have been that or still might be that irked her. 

"How are you faring, dear?" he asked. Sansa set her needlework beside her on the bench. 

"I am faring well, Lord Baelish," Sansa replied. 

"How is Ramsay treating you?" Petyr asked. Sansa's eyes flashed. The man sounded worried. A bubble of anger swelled in her chest. 

"My husband is treating me well, Lord Baelish," she said tersely. 

"Oh. Good. That's good." 

Was that _disappointment_  mixed with the relief in his eyes? Had he wanted her to get hurt? 

Her jaw clenched, and she reached for her needlework again. Long fingers wrapped around her wrist, stopping her halfway there. Sansa glared back at the man. 

"Leave me be, Lord Baelish." 

"I told you that you could call me Petyr," he murmured. 

" _Lord Baelish_ , release me. Do not touch me," she snarled. 

"Can your husband really please you as well as I?" Petyr asked, leaning forward. Sansa shoved at his chest with her free hand. 

"I am a married woman! Let me go, now, or else!" 

"Or else what?" 

"Or else I'll remove your hands from her myself. Permanently." 

They both turned to see Ramsay standing near them with a grin on his face. It wasn't like the others she had seen on him. No, this one was all teeth, sharp and feral. It sent a tremor of fear jolting through her. When Petyr didn't immediately move, Ramsay stepped forward, a long knife swinging from his right hand. He cocked his head to the side, a quiet sort of fury in his eyes. 

"Oh, was I not clear enough the first time? Take your filthy hands off my wife, or I _will_ cut off your hands and make you watch my hounds eat them," Ramsay growled, fingering the spine of his blade. 

Petyr released Sansa's hand, and Ramsay slipped the knife back into a sheath somewhere on his person. He strode forward and yanked the older man to his feet, gripping the back of his head tightly. 

"If a woman asks you to stop, you stop. If they say no, you leave them alone. Do you understand me?" His voice was even and quiet, sounding impossibly calm. Somehow, that was more terrifying than if he had been yelling. 

Petyr nodded, and Ramsay let go of his hair. But before the older man could leave, Ramsay slammed his fist into his face, cartilage crushing under his hand. Blood flowed from Lord Baelish's nose, and he clutched at his face, groaning in pain. 

"Stay away from my wife, or I will make you wish you were dead." 

Petyr fled the courtyard, and Ramsay turned to her, his expression softening instantly. He walked to her and knelt in front of her. 

"Are you alright, Sansa? Did he hurt you?" Sansa inhaled shakily. 

"N-no, Ramsay. I just didn't want him to touch me," she said. 

"I'm sorry." He kissed her wrist where Petyr had grabbed her, pale pink finger marks coloring her skin. 

"It's not your fault," Sansa said, flushing slightly when he continued to gently press his lips to the marks as if he could make them disappear by sheer force of will. "Why did you get so angry?" 

"Why wouldn't I? He tried to defile my wife," Ramsay said. He was now stroking her wrist with his thumb, rubbing soothing circles into her skin. 

"It's just - none of my other husbands really cared about that sort of thing," she said. 

"Then, they were fools. A wife is someone that you should cherish and love, not just use as a fixture or a toy." 

"Not that I don't agree with your statement," she began, feeling a bit nervous for being so bold, "But why do you think that?" 

"My mother," he answered. His tone became sad and even softer. 

"Your mother?" 

"Yes. She and her husband got married without Father's permission, and he killed the husband. He raped Mother and set their barn on fire. I vowed to Mother that I would always treat my wife well. Right before she died..." He trailed off, leaning his head against her hand. His eyes looked a little wet. 

"I'm sorry," Sansa said. 

"Don't be. It happened years ago. I just miss her sometimes. She was a wonderful woman. You would have liked her," Ramsay murmured with a sad smile. 


End file.
